


Back on My Beat

by stiction



Series: Summer Heat 2020 [6]
Category: Transformers (IDW 2019), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Camming, F/F, Homemade Sex Toys, Masturbation, Referenced Flamewar/Shadow Striker, Sex Toys, Virtual Sex Work, rise girls make do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stiction/pseuds/stiction
Summary: Flamewar has a free shift, some stolen goods, and the chance to watch her favorite streamer in action.
Series: Summer Heat 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803259
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Back on My Beat

**Author's Note:**

> written for the squares 'solo' and 'toys' with flamewar, put in by @squishygothenby 
> 
> come check out my board and put in bingo prompts [@schemingallday](https://twitter.com/schemingallday/status/1275841531245715457?s=20) on twitter!

The datapad flickered to life almost instantly. 

Nice. Flamewar had thought for a sec that she might’ve fried it during the hack. 

She tossed it aside for the moment and went back to her stash. After that bogus room inspection stunt Barricade tried to pull, she’d moved her contraband to a neat hole in the ground under her berth. This base had so many loose panels that she could move her stuff every day and Barricade would never get his gross little hands on any of it. 

Not that she had much at this point. Anything she couldn’t shove in her subspace was vaporized with the old base. It sucked, but it was what it was. 

Flamewar turned the brightness on her optics up and looked down into the hole. There was the tiny half-dose of Syk, snatched from Deet’s room after he disappeared on a mission. Five or six marbled hunks of ore from random outings. A _very_ rumbly motor yanked from a handheld drill. Twenty high-heat burst rounds in a painted clip that she was saving for a special day. Aaaaand... 

“Hey there, beautiful.”

The replica spike was her pride and joy, stolen from an Iaconian shop a few quartices back, before Sixshot got seriously cranky about day trips. 

It had a solid metal core, a silicon jacket, and a set of adjustable plates lining the whole thing. _And_ it was red. 

Sometimes she thought about detailing it and adding flames, maybe studding the base, but it wasn’t like her gun or anything. Nobody saw it except her and whatever unlucky grunt would clean out her room if she ever bit the dust. Red was fine.

If you had the right shape chuck key you could change the thickness by a few centimechanometers. But since Flamewar had managed to lose the key somewhere in between the last few frantic moves, it was stuck at the same size until she could find a replacement. At least her last adjustment hadn’t made it pointlessly small. The plates could be set by hand, but that took so long, and the ribbing didn’t feel good enough to make it worth it. 

Flamewar wriggled back out from under her berth, spike and motor in hand. 

She had a few minutes before the stream started. Just enough time to get set up. 

Alright. Door locked, _hard_ locked. No interruptions. Her tools were almost ready. She flopped onto the berth and pried another section of the wall open. She did kinda have to be careful about this part. Slipstream had been so pissed that time half the base had shorted out. Dumb luck meant she’d blamed someone else. Flamewar did miss Joule sometimes, but hey. If it was her or a cute compatriot, she’d pick herself every time, and it really wasn’t her fault that Joule had decided to talk back. 

She’d inherited a healthy stash of engex, too. Win-win. 

Flamewar reached into the wall and pulled out a bundle of wires. So. Not the green one this time, for sure. She stared at them for a few seconds before she gave up and tugged the red one out. 

Green had been a dumb choice anyway. Red was her lucky color. 

The little multitool in her subspace came in handy pretty often. You could knock someone out with it if you were real determined. And it had a set of wire-strippers that did the trick every time. The widest slot even worked on interior hydraulics, even if you probably weren’t supposed to use it like that. Whatever. Watching Barricade limp into the mess hall dragging a dead leg behind himself had totally been worth it. 

She stripped the red wire and tapped the bare metal. Live. Excellent. She shook the numbness from her hand and cut the wire in half. She held it up against the bundle still dangling from the motor and it came to life, juddering in her hand hard enough that it went numb all over again and she had to fumble not to drop it. 

Alright. Set and set. 

Flamewar popped her chassis port open and jacked into the datapad. Her hud slid to the side, priority given to the network input. She was just in time. Excellent. 

Trickdiamond’s stream went live twice every decaorn, right around the third shift change, which normally meant that Flamewar was either going on patrol or saddled with reloading analog ammunition in the storage closet that passed for an armory. 

Every so often she got lucky. Like tonight: a night off, no injuries to speak of, and an unbroken datapad whose owner either hadn’t noticed their bank account was being slowly drained or was just too busy recovering from an exploded helm to care.

Either way it was his loss and her gain. Trickdiamond’s too, by proxy. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Flamewar said again. Just as deserved this time. 

Trickdiamond had a pretty nice setup, way nicer than any room Flamewar had ever had even before going rogue. The berth looked soft, the blankets softer. Must be slick to be able to wash them whenever and not have to worry about the mess. Flamewar had bunched her own scratchy mesh sheet up against the wall behind the berth. It was better than leaning against the wall. It was a little lumpy and uneven, but she had to keep the live wire away from anything flammable, even if the sheet was more liable to melt than burn. 

She dropped a neat 50 shanix tip in as the room filled up and felt a little flicker of warmth at Trickdiamond’s smile and the kiss she blew to the camera. 

One thing Flamewar really liked about Trickdiamond’s streams was that she didn’t waste much time warming up. You could always tell when the screensaver switched to live feed that she’d taken the time to get a little revved up. The plating angled out, the faint humming fans, and every so often a glimpse of her panel, gone slick already around the edges. When she really got worked up she looked like you’d get a jolt if you touched her, like her frame was so hot it should’ve hurt to even look at. 

Already, Trickdiamond was tracing the seams of her panel with a delicate fingertip. Flamewar turned the volume up again in time to hear a quiet hum. 

“So,” Trickdiamond said, “I was going to give my valve a little break today and try out the fancy new spike toys one of you lovelies sent me, buuut I had a special request for an old favorite tonight and, well…” Trickdiamond winked and laughed as she licked her own lubricant off her finger. “I hate to say no to such a _generous_ fan.”

Flamewar groaned out loud at the toys Trickdiamond brought from out of frame. A heavy-duty vibrator and a replica spike that looked bigger around than her wrist. Frag. A blessing for whoever paid for that request. 

“I’m gonna start a little slow, just to work up to it,” Trickdiamond continued. “Those of you who made it to my last stream are hardly surprised, I’m sure.” 

Ugh. Her last stream had fallen on the night of the lockdown. Flamewar had forgotten all about it until she was pinned down on Shadow Striker’s berth, doing best to shred her superior officer’s plating with nothing but the teeth and claws Primus had given her, and by that point a) the rooms were already locked and b) it would’ve been kinda weird to stop. Not that it hadn’t been _good_ , but sometimes a mech just... needed some time to herself. 

Her stolen spike was also, to be honest, set just a _liiittle_ bit bigger than Shadow Striker. Not that much, but enough to count when she was in the mood. 

The chat was popping off about the last stream anyway. Apparently Trickdiamond had ridden one of those fancy, super-intense vibrating seats for almost a joor straight. And had had… Twenty-two overloads? Flamewar whistled, impressed. No wonder she was still feeling it. Flamewar’s record was eleven in one day, with a couple rests and a refuelling in between. Not that Trickdiamond really had to worry about fuel. You could tell from how shiny her plating was and how bright her optics were that she had topped-up tanks pretty much all the time. 

The shine on her plating made it look so slick. Her polish probably tasted sweet, too, Flamewar thought with another pulse through her array. Sweet was good by her. Sometimes she managed to snatch a few candies when they infiltrated. One time Shadow Striker had come back from some mission with a box of Kaonite crystal clusters and Flamewar had eaten one straight from her fingers, sucking them even after the energon was gone. That had been a good night.

Flamewar retracted her panel and slid her hand up between her legs. Her valve was a little wet. Not quite ready to roll, but she had time to catch up. 

She minimized the chat window so the stream filled her hud. Trickdiamond had laid back in her nest of pillows, legs spread and her vibrator rocking evenly from her node to the mouth of her valve. Flamewar fumbled for the drill motor without switching her visual input. She managed to grip the casing and the red wire, but got a shock straight through her palm when she tried to splice the wire blind. 

“Frag!” Not again. Her servos woke up after another shake of her hand, and she switched her hud to split-screen so she could get the wire in there right. As soon as the motor sputtered to life, Flamewar went back to the vidstream, relieved that Trickdiamond hadn’t moved on yet. 

She tugged more of the wire out of the wall, careful not to get it tangled as she put the drill motor between her legs. Her joints locked up with a painful surge of charge the moment it pressed up against her valve. The blat of static left her vocalizer aching, and the ringing in her helm probably meant she'd slammed it back against the wall. 

“Stupid— _damn_ it,” she shouted, swapping the motor out for one of her hands, rubbing at her nodes with the flats of her fingers to soothe them. Back when her stash fit in her subspace and she hadn’t had to move in a cycle, she had had a square of rubber sheeting to dull the pressure. Like the fancy thing Trickdiamond had. 

Someone pounded on the wall behind her. 

“Get bent,” she shouted. Digging in her settings, she dialed her vocalizer back anyway. If someone found out that she was messing with the base wiring, Slipstream would probably break a wheel off. Maybe even both if she put two and two together and came up with ‘Flamewar was probably responsible for the other short-out’. 

Slipstream liked her, but Slipstream had also liked Joule. 

From what she had heard, Slipstream had _really_ liked Joule. Now that was a pretty picture, even with the bloody ending. The datastream fed her another shaky moan from Trickdiamond. Flamewar put the motor back to work, this time holding it so it just barely touched the rim of her valve. Frag. She should’ve kept the drill handle. Maybe she could’ve dialed it back a little. If the construction crew came through again, maybe she could wheedle another rubber scrap out of them. Her valve was a champ, but her array wasn't meant to take that kind of punishment head on. She had to ease in.

Sure enough, as she watched Trickdiamond get up on her knees and rock against her vibrator, Flamewar’s sensornet caught up and realized the warm, rumbling thing overstimulating her nodes wasn’t actually trying to hurt her. 

“Oh,” she moaned, pressing the motor down a little harder. It slid easily now against the shift of her hips. Her valve was slick and hot, her external nodes pulsing at the constant rumble. 

“That’s so good,” Trickdiamond said. Her vocalizer was tight and starting to get staticky. Flamewar watched her frame twitch forward, the gleaming black head of the vibrator peeking out from under her valve rim. She was so shiny and smooth and the cables in her arm tensed neatly where she held the vibrator in place. A well-kept mech. 

Ah, Pit. Flamewar gave up on careful, too caught up in the shift of Trickdiamond’s armor as she laughed and licked her lips. The motor was searing hot when Flamewar ground it down over her array and swore. It always got her off fast, but she was setting some kind of record tonight. That was okay—the first time was good, but the second time was always better. Once she was good and loosened up, the spike would be easy to take. The magnetized base hadn’t worn out. She could pin it to the berth and ride it, or stick it to the wall behind the berth and rock back, pretending someone had a hold on her hips and was pulling her back onto their spike. 

Her charge jumped again, valve clenching. Okay. Yeah. The second one sounded good. Right now, though—the shake in Trickdiamond’s plating had turned into a full-body tremble, her head tipping back to show off the shiny length of her neck. Flamewar wanted to bite it. 

Flamewar stuck two fingers in her mouth and then dropped them to her valve, spreading the mesh wide so that the motor sat snug against her anterior node. She swore again, straining the volume control on her vocalizer, and almost dropped the stupid thing. Frag. She was so close. Every joint was warm, energon pulsing fast through her frame. Trickdiamond’s shaky moan made her valve throb. 

_Me too_ , she thought, wishing not for the first time that she could _really_ be alone. The tingle in her pedes told her it was going to be a good overload. It’d be better if she could really let loose. 

Fingers starting to ache, Flamewar pulled herself a little more open and twitched her other wrist, rubbing the motor up over her node and back down. Her frame was on fire, processor overrun by feedback. She held the motor tight against her valve, cables taut, until her charge finally overflowed. Her backstrut twisted and arched as her circuits overloaded, the shuddering pulse sweeping out from her array and leaving her venting heavily through her open mouth. Someone made a noise like a sob, but she couldn't tell if it was her or Trickdiamond. 

The feed had crackled and skipped during the surge, but as Flamewar replaced the motor with her own fingers and stroked a slow circle to work herself through the aftershocks, the stream stabilized. Just in time for Trickdiamond’s own overload, too. Cripes, even that looked luxurious when Trickdiamond did it. The zoom wasn’t great on this hardline. Flamewar looked anyway, skating down the tight line of Trickdiamond’s frame to see the twitch of her exhausted hip servos over the vibrator before she slumped to the side, laughing and smiling. Her thighs twitched together in the aftermath with nobody there to shoulder back between them.

Flamewar’s charge ratcheted back to a warm tingle in her chassis. She fumbled lazily for the spike at the edge of the berth, ignoring the drill motor buzzing around near her hip. Trickdiamond was taking a short rest, sprawled out across the big berth in her studio and running her hand over the lubricant on her thighs. 

“Wore myself out a bit,” she said, wiggling her shiny fingers at the camera and winking. The false spike had rolled into the bend of her leg when she shifted. Trickdiamond picked it up now and traced the ridges with her thumb before she looked into the camera again. “What do you guys think? Should I call it a night, or do you wanna see me take this thing?”

Flamewar rubbed the length of her spike replica over her valve and sent another 50 shanix through. The night was still young, after all. If she wasn’t a strutless mess by the end of it, it was a wasted opportunity. 

Trickdiamond laughed again and pressed a wet kiss to the head of the spike. Flamewar split-screened the stream so she could turn and attach the base of the spike to the wall. “Alright, you convinced me. I’ll be back in a few. Don't go anywhere, lovelies.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Flamewar muttered, already working three fingers into her valve. “Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from party for one by carly rae jepsen
> 
> joule and deet (disaster transport) belong to harper, who was nice enough to let me borrow some OCs and imply their untimely deaths


End file.
